


Pillow Talk

by bookworm03



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 06:18:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4776773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookworm03/pseuds/bookworm03
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by that scene where Ben reminds Leslie she can debate Bobby Newport in her sleep and responds to her with "I  know, we sleep in the same bed, it's been hell". </p><p>General internal ramblings of some key moments when Leslie Knope talked in her sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pillow Talk

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is my first Parks and Rec fic and I really haven't written anything like this in ages, but I just had an itch that needed scratching and put this together last night. I apologize for any typos and I hope you enjoy!

Ten-year-old Leslie Knope was jolted awake when something smacked her in the side of the head. She sat up, grumbling amidst a cacophony of muffled giggles, the other girls standing around her in a semi-circle like some sort of coven. Of all people, she hadn’t thought it likely she’d be the first to doze off, but she’d stayed up the entire night before devouring her latest biography (another on Eleanor Roosevelt), and the lack of sleep had caught up with her. 

She lifted a hand to swipe her hair off her forehead and something cool touched her skin and got in her eye. It was soft and squishy and smelled faintly of menthol. She squeaked and the girls erupted in laughter again.

“That’s what you get for falling asleep first, Les,” Shelly remarked snidely. “And then keeping the rest of us up with all your sleep talking!” 

Now her cheeks were burning hot and she wiped her eye on the edge of her sleeping bag. 

“You were talking about weirdest stuff too. You said you had a new vision for the state of Indiana and you would do your best to something something it. What the heck were you dreaming about?!” 

She mumbled her response as Lindsay handed her a towel and she gratefully wiped the shaving cream off her face. 

“What’d you say?” Larissa demanded. 

“Being governor,” she said again more clearly. 

At first it was so silent you could’ve heard a pin drop and then the giggles started again. Lindsay sat beside her, offering an apologetic look, but even she was clearly fighting to keep her amusement at bay. 

“Dream about normal stuff, weirdo,” Shelly snorted. “Or at least stuff that could happen. Nobody from Pawnee is going to be governor.” 

Leslie couldn’t be bothered telling her how wrong she was. Instead she just shrugged, dabbing her eye and padding off to the bathroom, tugging her favourite pajama pants (the pink ones with waffles on them) up as she went. 

She flushed out her eye, taking a few slow breaths, trying to convince herself that she was tearing up from the shaving cream in it and not because she was ganged up on by some silly tween girls whose stupid sleepover birthday party she didn’t even want to go to. 

Her mom had warned her this might happen, and as much as Leslie was happy to run around parks, go for long walks and have dance parties, she _liked_ reading political biographies and she _liked_ that she dreamed about being governor too. It wasn’t the first time someone had told her she talked in her sleep (her dad said she started around age four and he thought it was cute), but it was certainly the most self conscious about it she’d ever felt. 

For a split second she debated calling her parents and asking them to come pick her up, but she didn’t want to give the rest of them the satisfaction. It was only a few hours to morning and she wouldn’t sleep more anyway so they could just…find something else to laugh about. 

When she emerged from the bathroom Shelly’s mom was waiting and the mood in the room had shifted to something tenuous, as if a thread was about to break. All the girls were huddled together looking a little pale and a brick settled in the pit of Leslie’s stomach. 

In the end, the decision to go home was made for her. 

Her dad died that night. 

*****

She’d been having a dream, a good dream where she was participating in one of the Democratic primary debates (and crushing it, if she did say so herself) when the rustling of bedsheets interrupted her. She peeled an eye open and realized her mattress was moving. 

Her sleeping companion was sitting up, feet on the floor and bare back to her, hair messy and flattened in odd places. He had nice hair, dark brown and curly, and she could see his back muscles flex even in the dim light filtering through a crack in her drapes. Leslie had seen him in class multiple times and he asked lots of smart, thoughtful questions, so when he was at the party that night she’d practically fallen over herself to go talk to him. 

Her alarm clock glowed on her nightstand, showing it was 4:31am. 

“Are you…okay?” her fingers reached out to ghost over Tim’s spine. He jerked away, twisting to face her and rubbing his cheek. He had a beard - or as much of a beard as he could grow - but she still thought it was cute. Her heart fluttered like it had a few hours before when he’d kissed her in a dark corner. 

“I’m gonna go,” he pulled his boxers on, standing and stretching. He was tall, making for awkward angles when they’d had sex, but it had been fun. Her skin was still hot and warmth coiled in her belly when she recalled the way he’d held her eyes as he kissed her and slid into her. 

“I have a paper I need to work on tomorrow. I gotta get some rest.” 

“Oh!” she sat up quickly, covering herself with the sheet. “I mean, you can…feel free to stay here for the night. My roommate won’t be back.” 

“You talk in your sleep,” he grumbled, pulling his rumpled t-shirt over his head in one swift move. 

Her cheeks coloured slightly. “Sorry. I…obviously, I don’t mean to.” 

“It’s fine,” he stepped into his jeans, buttoning them quickly. “It’s not your fault, I…it’s just better if I go home.” 

“Right,” her lips seemed to form the word in slow motion and the voice that said it didn’t sound like her own. 

“I’ll call you,” he hesitated. “I had fun.” 

She managed a little smile for him, returning the sentiment as he leaned in and pecked her chastely on the lips. 

A few minutes later she heard the front door slam and stood up carefully, pulling on an oversized t-shirt to cover herself before padding out to lock it. When she got back to bed the post-sex haze had worn off and she felt wired. Leslie turned on her light and reached for her history textbook. She had a paper due in three weeks, but she had a million ideas for ways she could go with it and she would need a lot of time to decide on the perfect angle to take. 

She spent the rest of the night carefully filling a three ring binder with ideas for it, as well as two other term papers she had coming up. 

Tim never called. 

*****

She was _not_ going to fall asleep. 

No matter how drunk she was and how close she’d come to a legitimate orgasm, she was not going to fall asleep and give him a reason to leave. It had finally happened with Mark and his back was to her, but he was still, most definitely, in her bed and if she didn’t fall asleep she wouldn’t sleep campaign or sleep debate anyone and he would stay. 

Leslie Knope didn’t need more than 3 hours of sleep 99% of the time anyway, and she liked Mark and she wanted this to turn into something and there was no way - no way - she was falling asleep tonight. 

By 3am her resolve faded. The red wine had gone to her head and she felt dizzy and drowsy with exhaustion, and her pillow was so soft, and… 

The next thing she knew she was being roused by Mark, who was standing over her bed fully dressed. She shot up and the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. 

“Was I talking in my sleep?” 

“Uh, you might’ve been a little,” Mark clawed at the side of his face. “Something about Dexhart, but I gotta get home and get ready for work anyway.” 

It was still dark outside, and it was almost summer. Leslie glanced at the clock. 5:08am. 

“This…this early?” 

“Yeah,” his hand moved to rub his forehead. “Then I won’t have to worry about getting home and you usually go in early anyway so…it’s just easier, right?” 

Leslie swallowed the lump in the back of her throat, forcing a smile and nodding too many times in succession. It was true. She’d normally be up by now and starting her day. It was sweet he knew her so well. 

“So, I’ll see you shortly,” he leaned in and kissed her forehead, his morning scruff scratching her skin. She smiled more eagerly and nodded again. 

“Okay, yeah, see you then!” 

She saw him only in passing at work that day and they never ended up talking about what happened. 

And it never happened again. 

*****

To Dave’s credit, they’d been dating for almost two months before the sleep-talking thing became an issue. With his night shifts and her erratic sleep schedule, they didn’t do a ton of sleepovers, but they did enough that she figured either the problem had resolved itself, (she wasn’t having as many campaign dreams these days anyway,) or he was just a really deep sleeper. 

So when she woke up one morning and he wasn’t in his bed she was actually a little concerned. Leslie headed downstairs to find him passed out on his couch under an afghan, feet draped over an armrest. He was snoring softly. 

She went back to bed where she debated whether to bring it up, knowing he was probably too nice of a guy to be the one to do it. 

On the one hand it was sweet he wasn’t going to complain or make a big deal out of it. 

On the other hand, he was a cop and she really hated the idea of forcing him out of his bed regularly because she couldn’t put a lid on it. She resolved to bring it up if it happened again. 

Thankfully, he apparently _was_ a deep sleeper because she only found him on the couch two more times in the course of their relationship. 

The last time was a week before he moved to San Diego. 

She tried not to think about what would’ve happened if she’d went with him. 

*****

Leslie rolled over around 4am to find her best friend and life coach Ann Perkins missing. They’d fallen asleep watching Legally Blonde, sipping margaritas and eating Red Vines, but at some point Ann must’ve woken up and thought to go to her own bed. 

Feeling perkier than usual thanks to a night of Ann-time, she fished through her bag, removing her idea binder and brainstorming some event nights for Ramsett Park. Once she was satisfied with that Leslie checked the time before making her way into the kitchen to cook breakfast and put the coffee on. There was even a can of whipped cream in the fridge labelled specifically for her. It had been a good night. The Harvest Festival had make work busier than usual and the pressure to come up with a new idea had been weighing on her for days, so it was nice to decompress… 

Plus, her personal life was pretty sucky right now and she had really needed a girls’ night. 

When beautiful, sleepy Ann stumbled out of her bedroom, she was yawning and stretching her arms over her head as she made her way to the coffee pot. 

“You were talking in your sleep,” Ann said through another yawn, answering her unasked question. 

“Was I?” she usually remembered her sleep-debating dreams, but nothing was coming to mind. “What was it?” 

“Ben,” Ann pulled her coffee to her lips. 

“About the budget?” She was surprised. Leslie hadn’t dreamt about arguing with Ben for a while now, and after all the help he’d given them during Harvest Fest any animosity she’d felt towards him had died a long time ago; she was a little disappointed that her subconscious refused to acknowledge he was actually, legitimately, a good guy.

Ann murmured through her mug. “About who got to be on top.” 

“Ann!” She reached out a hand to smack her. Ann balked and set her mug down. 

“It was not…I did not have…about Ben…” 

“You _so_ did.” 

“I did not.” 

“There was moaning.” Leslie felt the blood rush to her face. “Why do you think I went to my bed?” 

Leslie’s jaw popped open and her perfect starfish best friend just grinned at her. 

“Youuuu had a sex dream about Beeeeen,” she singsonged, wiggling her hips. 

“Annnnnnn,” Leslie whined. “I did not…I don’t…I do _not_ think of him like that. He is a friend and a nice person and maybe he has a kind of cute face but I didn’t…I would remember that…” 

“Leslie had a sex dream about Beeeeen,” she continued. 

“No Ann, no! I did…” 

So, clearly her subconscious _did_ acknowledge that Ben was a nice guy and it enjoyed toying with her, because that was the moment she remembered her dream. 

Crap on a spatula, she’d had a sex dream about Ben. 

*****

Okay, there was absolutely no way she was falling asleep this time. 

No. Way. 

She liked Ben, more than she could remember having liked anyone ever and the sex had been… 

She had not had sex like that before. It was great, really great: her toes had curled, she felt boneless and for several minutes she wasn’t sure she’d be able to walk, and yeah, they needed to do that again. 

And he liked her, he genuinely seemed to like her. He liked her enough that he’d kissed her in the middle of his office - even though it could’ve technically gotten them both fired - because he just _had_ to. 

God, she really liked him back. Maybe she could wake him up and they could… 

No. No. He’d told her while they were in the shower together (yup, that happened, he’d even bent down so she could shampoo his hair), that he hadn’t slept well on Chris’s couch the night before and he’d looked practically dead on his feet when she led him back to bed and cuddled up with him. 

But Leslie’s adrenaline was pumping and she just simply wasn’t going to sleep. She would not sleep-campaign/sleep-debate/talk about anything at any point loudly and with enough gumption to drive him out of her bed because she was not going to sleep at all. And…well…if they stayed together she’d just take a lot of power naps during the day (Chris said they were effective), and work through the night and god, think of what she would be able to accomplish…

Like tonight, for example, she'd taught herself how to use iMovie, made an iMovie and emailed it to Ann and was starting to actually clean her house. She’d alphabetized her biographies and her birdhouses were now all contained in the same general area of her living room. Leslie Knope could make use of the extra 3.5 hours.

She had just started sorting through a box of Time Magazines from the 90s when she heard footsteps behind her and whirled around. Ben was standing there in boxers and a navy blue t-shirt, hair sticking up at odd angles and squinting through the bright lights. 

“Leslie, what uh…what are you doing?” he rubbed his face adorably and she fought the urge to kiss him senseless. 

“Oh just…cleaning, working, sorting through some stuff…” she trailed off as he picked up one of her birdhouses and furrowed his brow. 

“This couldn’t wait until morning?” 

“It is morning, technically, and I…I told you I don’t need a lot of sleep.” 

“Uh huh,” he lifted an eyebrow, setting the birdhouse back down. “But you do need _some_ sleep, right?” 

“I slept! I got a good…power nap.” 

He rubbed his face again. 

“Leslie, come back to bed,” he reached out a hand and dammit, she felt really tired suddenly and her determination waned, but only for an instant. 

“Nope! I’m great! I’m just gonna keep…” crap, she was yawning, “I’m going to keep decluttering.” 

“Do I snore?” he twisted his mouth and she shook her head rapidly. In reality, he might snore, but she wouldn’t know at this point. 

“Do I kick?”  

Again, she shook her head. 

“Leslie,” he sighed, voice laced with a touch of exasperation, and took a step towards her. He plucked her hand from her side and kissed her knuckles. “I don’t want to sleep in your bed without _you_.” 

And then his arms were around her and he was warm and solid and swaying gently, as if attempting to lull her. His chin found the top of her head and she sighed, pressing her face to his chest and inhaling. He smelled good, remnants of aftershave mingled with the smell of him - of them - emanating from his pores. 

“I talk in my sleep.” 

He tugged on her hair and crinkled his nose adorably when she met his eyes. 

“Okay? Lots of people do that…” 

“No, I…” she heaved a sigh. “I _talk_ in my sleep. I debate people and I give campaign speeches for various elected offices and it’s bad and I really like you and I don’t want you…I don’t want to ruin your night because I do…that. I should see a specialist or something. Actually, I’ll call one.” She started to pull away in search of her phone. 

“I’ll call Ann and she can give me the name of one and I’ll call them and maybe they’ll give me some pills and then we can sleep in the same bed some nights and we’ll just make a schedule and - “

“Whoa,” he dropped his forehead to hers. “Whoa uh, caaaalm down.” 

Her heart was racing and she’d been babbling. Shit. 

“So you… _debate_ in your sleep…” 

His lips were twitching and she realized he was trying not to laugh at her. 

“And make campaign speeches.” 

“And make campaign speeches," he echoed. 

He kissed her forehead, winding his arms around her more tightly. 

“Of course you do.” he murmured. Despite herself, she giggled. 

They stayed there for what felt like ages, swaying gently and cuddling standing up. Her eyelids started to droop and she was fairly certain Ben had fallen asleep on her head when he finally broke the silence. 

“Come to bed, Leslie,” he yawned into her hair. 

She didn’t answer, but also didn’t resist when he guided her back to her room. They settled in the middle of her mattress, his firm body winding around hers, arm draped across her middle and nose pressed against the crook of her neck. 

He kissed the spot softly before nuzzling her again. 

“Nightbabe,” he rumbled off drowsily. She knew it was said mindlessly and he'd forget he did it come morning, but the endearment made her insides melt as she allowed herself to relax against him. 

She didn’t talk in her sleep at all that night, according to Ben. 

He said he was disappointed; he wanted to hear her uncensored presidential campaign promises. 

She cooked breakfast and they spent most of the weekend in bed, making out and having sex - a lot of both - and yes, sleeping.

It was excellent. 

*****

He groaned when he heard her starting up with gusto, even though he could feel himself smiling. They’d watched a documentary on Margaret Thatcher and that always brought it out - sometimes with a bad British accent to boot. 

Tonight there was no accent, but she said the word “country” again and again with oomph and clarity in her mumblings. Now he was full out grinning with his eyes shut and he slid against her, kissing her ear and rubbing his palm across her chest. Sometimes it was nonsense and sometimes it was perfectly coherent, but it was always passionate. 

“Uhhuh, whatelseareyougoingtodo,MadamPresident?” 

She breathed something unintelligible but the phrase “education reform” was as clear as day. He kissed her cheek and the chatter grew softer as he settled. 

Oh, it was hell sometimes, especially when she got really intense and started flailing, but he kind of loved it anyway. And on occasion she’d say something so poignant and eloquent he’d find the notebook he’d stashed under the bed their fourth night together and scribble it down in case she wanted to use it later. 

He was in love with a goofball who was more productive sleeping than most people were awake. 

That was Leslie Knope.


End file.
